


Cut My Rope

by ranchelle



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranchelle/pseuds/ranchelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic on what happened between Fenris and Anders during and after the Chantry incident.  Endgame spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut My Rope

_A dancer on a rope_   
_over a pit of blades_   
_A slip away from death_   
_No safehold to be seen_

_The rope now set ablaze_   
_But it holds, still_   
_Should the rope be cut_   
_And merciful death be quick?_

_Or should he be let to linger_   
_upon the rope, his flesh_   
_to burn with it until_   
_he falls in agony?_

Fenris let himself into the clinic, quiet and uninvited, but not wholly unwelcome.  By the dim light of a few candles, he could see Anders at the back, bent over a table, his chin resting on a hand as he idly scratched his quill across the paper.

Anders stopped his writing and left the table as soon as Fenris approached.

“It’s late,” said Anders.

Fenris shrugged.  ”What is this?”

“I thought you weren’t interested in my manifestos,” said Anders, casually dragging a blank leaf of paper over his still-wet writing.

“Your manifestos take up every inch of the paper. This does not look like a manifesto.”

“Fine,” Anders raised his hands in surrender, “you caught me writing something frivolous.”

“Frivolous?” Fenris sat down at Anders’s table, staring at the stack of papers.

“I suppose you could read it if you want to,” Anders yawned and pushed away the paper covering his slightly smudged writing.

Fenris rolled his eyes that gave him a is-that-a-challenge look. He took the piece of paper and squinted at the words.

“A dan…cer on a…rope,” he mouthed each word slowly and silently.

“Shall I read it to you?” offered Anders.

Fenris shook his head.

“I will see myself out. You should rest,” said Fenris.

Anders gave a weary smile and they exchanged an unspoken understanding: a quick kiss, no more than a fleeting brush of lips, before retreating to the back of the clinic.

The candle burnt itself to a nub by the time Fenris finished his reading.  He carefully put everything back in its place and without so much of a greeting for the sleeping Anders, he left as silently as he came.

**

Anders sat down, knowing he no longer had the strength stand up against anyone.  His betrayal, the loss of innocent lives, the chaos; the grief and guilt that was swallowing him whole; all was part of his plan.  He deserved to die.  No, he  _wanted_  to die, but was too much of a coward to do it himself.  He looked to Hawke, the leader, the one shining light in this dark age of oppression.

“Fenris?” asked Hawke.

“He wants to die. Kill him and be done with it,” said Fenris.

Fenris had every right to be angry.  He had distanced himself from Fenris once he put his plan into action, trusting no one with his thoughts.  Even Hawke, ever-forgiving, shook his head, looking away as if he never wanted to see Anders’s face again.

“No!” pleaded Merrill.  ”He should come with us and do what he can to put things right!”

“He must pay for his crime,” said Sebastian.

Anders stared at the ground, telling himself that he was ready for the consequences.

“Anders,” said Hawke finally.  ”The mages will not pay the price for your actions. I will aid them.”

“Thank you, Hawke. This is more than I ever deserve,” Anders said, his voice cracking.

With that, Hawke walked away.

“Hawke, you cannot let this criminal walk free!” yelled Sebastian.

“It’s not Hawke’s decision to make,” said Varric, and he turned to leave with Hawke.

“Will no one will see this justice done—”

“I will do it,” Fenris spoke up.  ”Leave us.”

“Why? Is there no other way?” Merrill wrung her hands and turned to Isabela. “Don’t they love each other? Is he really going to kill Anders?”

Isabela hushed her, took one of her tiny shaking hands and gently pulled her away. “It’s between them, kitten.”

Fenris waited, almost respectfully, until everyone had left, before taking his first step towards the mage.

“Fenris,” Anders started, his tired voice cracking with emotion, “I’m sorry. I lied to you. I—” he was cut short with a curt wave from Fenris.

“You have made your choice. There is no need for apologies,” said Fenris.

“Thank you, my love,” smiled Anders. The adrenaline from his actions still coursed though his blood, making his stomach churn and his fingers cold and numb.

“It will be quick.”

“I cannot ask for more,” said Anders, his eyes shut, waiting.

Fenris closed in, crouching over his mage who remain stubbornly hunched away from him. He stood there, close enough to touch but leaving that final inch uncrossed.

“Anders.”

There was nothing but gentleness in the calling of his name.  Fenris said it so softly only the both of them could hear it, as if it was a most treasured secret.

Anders  _had_ to turn.  Stern green eyes met his.  They were the same stolid green, unwavering as the night he had finally decided that Anders should take him in his bed.  That amidst all the uncertainty and fear, he had decided.   _And accepted._  They must have been some price Fenris paid to achieve this calm.

_What are you thinking, love?_

“What are you going to do after this?” Anders blurted out.

He perches on the edge of his seat, like a child waiting to know the end of the story.

_What happens to you after I am gone?_

“I will go with Hawke and aid him until he is done.”

“And after that? What will you do?”

“You talk too much for a man about to die,” snorted Fenris.

 _Ever as infuriating_ , thought Anders.  He could not help but feel an uneasiness well up in his chest.

Anders reached a trembling hand up to the warrior’s cheek as Fenris removed his gauntlets and placed his bare hand over the mage’s chest.  Fenris’s brands lit up and the once cold lines of lyrium became hot against Anders’s chest.  Only thin fabric stood between them.

“Promise me you’ll live on, Fenris,” whispered Anders, stroking Fenris’s cheek, letting him know  _I’m still yours, if you’ll have me._

“I am free to choose my destiny,” said Fenris firmly.

The determination in Fenris’s voice washed over Anders like a cold revelation.

“Fenris,” said Anders, his voice cracking from emotion, “there’s no saving me. Move on with your life.  Promise me.”

“I will not make a promise I do not intend to keep.”

Fear gripped Anders. For his betrayal, he was prepared for hatred, for anger, for death.

He was not the least prepared for  _this_.

“No,” mouthed Anders, “Fenris, please don’t do this. Don’t follow me in death.”

“I have made my choice. As have you.”

Anders stood up, wrapping his fingers easily over Fenris’s slender wrist, still pressed against his chest.

“I would drown us in blood, pay any price, just to keep you safe, I want you to live no matter what,” was the only answer Anders gave.

“No matter what?” asked Fenris.

“Yes.”

Fenris gave a slow, hesitant nod.  Anders was relieved.  Fenris drew his hand away, poised and ready like an executioner’s blade, and waited for a sign.

Anders nodded. “Do it.”

Fenris’s markings burst into a bitter, bitter blue as he plunged his hand into Anders’s chest.  Anders gasped at the intrusion, feeling it wrapped around something in him, squeezing his vitals. First, he felt light-headed, then he found he was breathing and not at the same time. He tried to take in air, but none seemed to go into him. His chest was tight, and his head felt about to burst. It was a matter of seconds before he started choking on his own spit, and he swore he saw Fenris's lips move. Numbers. He was counting.

So he knew how long it took to kill a man.

The worried look on the elf’s face was unbecoming.  Perhaps his feelings finally cracked open the frozen exterior?  But there was something about that counting — something a healer like him should know, but his vision was turning dark. His blood roared in his ears and all his muscles spasmed in agony for what seemed like eternity, and then all was silent.

**

He awoke to the smell of stale food, the stench of sweat, salt, fish and sea, and a massive headache.

“He’s awake!” Came a tiny voice. He recognised it as Merrill’s.  He could hear her rambling on, trying to explain to him where he was and all. It was gibberish to him for a while as he tried to focus, then the noise started to form words to him.

“…with his magical-fisting trick and made you look like you were dead…hid you and we came back for you after we…” was what Anders thought he heard from Merrill.

Now he knew he was alive, the only thing on his mind was that he was thirsty.

_Water._

“Fenris,” he croaked.  He must have confused the two but somehow it felt just as right.

“I’ll fetch him,” said Merrill. “Stay where you are. No moving!”

Quick but heavy steps were heard. Perhaps it was his imagination, for Fenris was always light on his feet, but he thought he heard Fenris stumble into the hull.

“You’re awake.”

Fenris did not approach, keeping a distance between them.  A long pause hung between them until Fenris spoke from where he stood at the foot of the stairs.

“I wasn’t sure you would wake,” Fenris swallowed, and continued his struggle for words.  ”I don’t know how to be…gentle. I was afraid it might not have worked.  You might never wake up, or lose your mind.  Hawke said to count to no more than ten…but it took longer,” Fenris stopped, and gave Anders a long, thoughtful look.

“You were so stubborn to close your eyes,” he said, smiling and sounding relieved. A moment passed, and he dropped his Merrill impersonation, schooling his face into his usual scowl.

With his first need satisfied, Anders cracked a smile and asked for his second.

“Water?”

**

It was some time later before they talked about them.  Anders was surprised that Fenris did not confront him earlier.  He was more surprised that Fenris was not angry. Which he had all the right to be.

“Why did you lie?” said Fenris, more a question than an accusation.

“About what?  About Vengeance?  The Chantry?  The whole mess?  If you haven’t noticed, I lied to Hawke.  I betrayed  _you_.”

“Did you want us to hate you?”

“Why didn’t you kill me?” demanded Anders.

“Because you asked me not to,” answered Fenris with absolute certainty.

“I did not. I asked you to… oh.” Anders scratched his chin as understanding dawned on him.  ”I asked you to live.”

Fenris nodded.  ”No matter what.”

“I’m not sure if you made the right decision in sparing my life.”

“I…” Fenris shifted on his feet, “tried my hand at this ‘frivolity’ you showed me.”

“Frivolity?”

“Something you wrote about a dancer on a rope,” said Fenris.

“Oh. The one I wrote on a whim.  A poem,” recalled Anders.

“A poem,” echoed Fenris, and he pressed a small piece of folded parchment in Anders’s hand.  ”This is my answer to the poem.”

Anders raised a brow at Fenris, but quickly unfolded the parchment and read on.  He could not help but weep as he brushed his finger over every painstakingly written letter.

_Cut my rope_   
_says the dancer_   
_Into the burning fire_   
_I go with him_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In an AU scenario where there is an established Anders/Fenris romance, I would imagine this is what Fenris meant when he said, "He wants to die. Kill him and be done with it." Death would be a mercy to someone so broken and wrecked with guilt.
> 
> I apologise for mistakes and errors in this fic. I wrote this in July as a birthday present for myself and didn't want to post it here since I think it's not well-written at all. I wrote this mostly because I wanted to see some sappy, self-indulgent Fenris/Anders and dramatic fake!death.


End file.
